


Sunday Candy

by zuotian



Category: South Park
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Bible Quotes, Both as a Weapon of Abuse and Method of Recovery, Catholic Guilt, Childhood Trauma, Critique on Modern Society as Exhibited by The Real Housewives, Daddy Kink, Deepthroating, Dom/sub Undertones, Double Penetration, Emotional Constipation, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Misuse of French, Mommy Kink, Oral Sex, Panic Attacks, Polyamory, Relationship Issues, Religion, Switching, Threesome - M/M/M, Twunk Butters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:09:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24034843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zuotian/pseuds/zuotian
Summary: Kenny, Cartman, and Butters have sustained a polygamous relationship with moderate to miraculous results, but when Butters' excessive charity threatens their bond it'll take angst, fluff, explicit sex, and a whole lot of patience on Kenny's part to set things back in order.
Relationships: Eric Cartman/Kenny McCormick, Eric Cartman/Kenny McCormick/Leopold "Butters" Stotch, Eric Cartman/Leopold "Butters" Stotch, Kenny McCormick/Leopold "Butters" Stotch
Comments: 7
Kudos: 62





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this plot bunny wouldn't leave me the hell alone, so i decided to put it to paper in between working on my never-ending longfic wip and procrastinating the overdue update to my main four poly fic. here's to hoping this will not become another sitting duck. i intend to finish it within if not two then at most three chapters. for added context, when i was but an infantile newcomer to the SP fandom bunny was my first ship and buttman was considered a problematic malign; i'm excited to reconcile both with my greatest love, kenman. 
> 
> didn't wanna spam the tags, so to cover the rest of my bases--expect protective cartman, submissive kenny, badass butters, and an ever-changing sexual hierarchy. daddy/mommy kink stuff isn't all too serious, and there's no goddamn age play involved whatsoever! 
> 
> i am a nonpracticing protestant/halfhearted buddhist at my best and a waffling agnostic at my worst; details on catholicism have been gleamed from popular culture and scant discussions with a convert-by-marriage. in jesus' name i post this fic. may god forgive me.

ALL CHARACTERS AND EVENTS IN THIS FANFICTION—EVEN THOSE BASED ON A REAL SHOW—ARE ENTIRELY GRATUITOUS. ALL CANONICAL DIALOGUE IS IMPERSONATED ... POORLY. THE FOLLOWING FANFICTION CONTAINS COARSE LANGUAGE AND DUE TO ITS CONTENT IT SHOULD NOT BE READ BY ANYONE.

Kenny propped his chair on its hind legs, checked the stove’s clock, then glanced at the mudroom leading off the kitchen to the back door. 

Cartman scowled across from him. “You’re pathetic.” 

Kenny’s chair snapped back to the tiled floor. “It’s Wednesday, my dude. He’ll be here.”

Cartman shook his fork free of pasta and jabbed it in Kenny’s direction. “If my objectively fan-fucking-tastic spaghetti doesn’t motivate him to punctuality, nothing will.” He reclined in his seat and grazed his socked toes alongside Kenny’s ankle under the table, a balm for his own ire and Kenny’s disappointment. “Don’t get your hopes up.” 

Yellow light cut across the windows behind his head. “Uh-huh,” Kenny muttered.

Cartman hunkered over his plate, lips pursed. “You’ll see.” 

Hurried footsteps thumped up the back stoop and the door swung open to reveal a haggard Butters. “Heya, fellas!” He swept forward, panting slightly. “How’re my favorite guys?” 

Cartman offered a noncommittal grunt. Butters’ smile flagged; Kenny yanked him close by the RN badge clipped to his pocket and kissed the uncertain frown off his face. “We’re good. How was work?” 

Butters’ grin instantly slotted back into place. “Not bad! Just basic stuff. Some kiddo got his tonsils removed. That’s always a treat! For them! So much ice cream, jeeze.” He laughed at his own joke. 

“Why don’tcha sit down,” Cartman suggested, unamused. 

“Erm, well.” Butters stepped away. “I promised I’d help with CCD this week, actually.” 

Kenny released his badge. The cord raked against the zipper of his askew jacket and rippled back to his pocket. “What? When?” 

“Why, where, how?” Cartman parotted. 

Butters rubbed the nape of his neck. “Sunday. Father Maxi asked me. One of the old gals got run down with the flu.” 

“And naturally they asked the polygamous homosexual to replace her,” Cartman said. “Look, Butters, I know you take the whole Catholic guilt thing literally, but you don’t have to put yourself through that.” 

“My faith commands me,” Butters said, lifting his chin, “and the church accepts me for who I am. I don’t hide nothing from nobody.” 

Cartman raised a disbelieving brow. “So that’s why you go to afternoon mass instead of morning?” 

Butters’ face reddened with equal parts shame and anger. “Aw fooey Eric, you know my parents--”

“When will you be back?” Kenny asked, diverting course. 

Butters simmered down. “I dunno. I’ll be helping with scripture lessons. Then cleaning up. And I’m sure Father Maxi’ll talk my heckin’ ear off.”   
  
Cartman rose from the table and gathered his plate. “Go with God, Leopold.” 

Kenny dug a fingernail between his teeth as Butters whirled, eying Cartman’s unfinished food; a lack of appetite never boded well with him. “I can’t not pull through when my congregation needs me.” 

Cartman scraped his leftovers in the trash--Kenny snuffed the flare of impoverished indignation at the waste--and dumped his plate into the sink. “Are we not your family in Christ, too?” 

Butters tittered. “Of course you are. Both of you. But I can’t help helping.” 

Cartman smacked the faucet and commenced washing the dishes that had piled up over the past two days. Never one to be proactive in doing chores, it was merely an effort to deafen Butters’ reasoning. Taller than either of them, Butters strode across the kitchen in three lumbering strides and slung his arms around Cartman’s waist. He’d sprung like a weed the second he hit fifteen and filled out proportionally once he started running at twenty-five, much to Kenny’s satisfaction and Cartman’s chargin. 

“Eric,” he said. “I know I’ve been real busy lately. I’m not gonna apologize--I’ll never be sorry for lending a hand--but...” He buried his nose in Cartman’s fluffy brown hair. “I miss you, too.” 

“I don’t miss you,” Cartman said, a bald-faced lie that nonetheless caused Butters to make a wounded noise. “Do whatever the hell you want, for Christ’s sake. I really don’t care.” 

“Eric,” Kenny warned. 

Cartman shrugged Butters off. “What? You’re pissed too. Admit it.” 

“I’m not,” Kenny said. 

“Lies,” Cartman said, turning back around. “You’re a liar, McCormick.” 

Butters frowned. “Is he speaking truth, Ken? Honest.” 

Kenny hitched his shoulder. “I mean, I’m not mad, but--” 

“Holy shit,” Cartman exclaimed. He jettisoned away from the sink and pointed a finger at Kenny. “Quit being such a pussy!” 

Kenny and Butters flinched. “Don’t yell, please,” Butters requested. 

“I’ll yell loud as I fucking want,” Cartman proclaimed. “If that triggers you two’s snowflake dispositions, fucking tough!” 

“You’re being very disagreeable,” Butters said.

“Who’d’ve thunk?” Cartman asked. “I’ve got a hell of a lot to disagree with!” 

“I’m not going to keep talking to you in this type of emotional environment.” Butters’ upbringing at least spit him out with a backbone, whereas Kenny survived with nothing but scars to show for it. “I don’t got the time, anyway.” 

Cartman rolled his eyes at Kenny. “He doesn’t have time for us, he says.” 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Butters snapped. He passed a hand through his disheveled crop of blond hair. “I need a shower. We can talk when I get back.” 

Cartman returned to the sink with a dismissive huff. Kenny watched Butters disappear into the living room. Once his footsteps creaked above their heads, Kenny looked at Cartman. 

“Don’t start,” Cartman said, sensing his weighted gaze. “I’m not the asshole, here.” 

“You coulda a been a little nicer about it,” Kenny said. 

“He could’ve been a little less of a self-righteous dick weasel,” Cartman argued. “What’s he think he is, a fucking saint? Give me a break.” 

Kenny thought of the Virgin Mary altar Butters insisted on erecting in the corner of the living room, her porcelain arms spread in merciful benediction; the rosary he kept on his person at all times, completed every day without fail; the leatherbound Bible that encompassed half his drawer within their bedside table, annually read front to back. Kenny’s religious leanings went unnamed and untouched, and Cartman was a stalwart atheist. But Butters held onto his beliefs through thick and thin, youth and adulthood, childhood abuse and teenage sexuality crises. In a world gone mad without principle, his unfaltering morals impeded Kenny and Cartman from becoming full-on nihilists. 

“It means a lot to him, man,” was all Kenny said.

Thankfully, Cartman knew him well enough to gleam his thoughts without them being verbally discerned. This ability furnished their early friendship, transformed it into something deeper, opened it up to include Butters when Butters mirrored the same ability. In a sense, Kenny’s cerebral constipation was the glue that held their tessellation together. Lucky them he never went to therapy--only facilitated it for others.

Cartman sighed, pulled the sink plug, and walked back to the table. He dropped into the chair nearest to Kenny and patted his lap; Kenny inserted his feet atop Cartman’s plush thighs. 

“I’m not talking his goddamn God,” Cartman said. “He’s got a friend in Jesus, I get it. But it’s not just that. He wants to save the whole world.” 

“Yeah,” Kenny agreed. 

“If he really believed, he’d trust his buddy to take care of it,” Cartman went on, unable to pass any opportunity to poke at Butters’ beliefs. And thank God Butters wasn’t present to overhear it; Kenny couldn’t handle a theological debate right now, or ever. “But he’s got this idea he’s the surrogate messiah.” 

Kenny dug his toes into Cartman’s sweatpants. “He ain’t egotistical like that. He’s just charitable.” 

“To a fault,” Cartman said. “To his own detriment. He’s running himself ragged. Working overtime whenever anybody needs a shift covered, all his volunteer crap--and now he’s probably gonna become a fucking youth pastor, if Maxi gets his way.”

“Yeah,” Kenny repeated. 

“The snowflake thing was shitty,” Cartman assented; age had made him somewhat self aware. “But I got my own daddy issues, you know. The abandonment kind. And I’m feeling pretty abandoned!” 

“That ain’t fair neither,” Kenny said. “He’s sweet as crazy with us.” 

“When he’s around,” Cartman said, “which isn’t that often anymore.” 

Kenny hummed. Cartman fidgeted, uncomfortable sitting with his thoughts without an argumentative framework to organize them in. They listened to the shower running upstairs, the water rushing through the pipes in the walls--hinted implications of Butters’ presence that only served to exaggerate his absence. 

“It’s almost like old times,” Cartman continued, chin tucked to his chest. “Back when it was just us.” 

Kenny’s foot tensed. “And what do you make of that?” 

Cartman soothed his muscles under his thumb. “We could hack it.” He looked up. “But I don’t want to.” 

Kenny relaxed. “Me neither.” 

Butters had always been with them in some fashion, even when their triad was platonic and he merely acted as a not-entirely-unwelcome third wheel. To lose him by any degree would be devastating; now that they were all three romantically involved the stakes were that much higher. Kenny didn’t know what would happen if Butters’ exodus came to pass--to any of them individually, or him and Cartman as a unit. 

But Cartman was a bit of a drama queen. Kenny retracted his feet and sluiced upward, tugging Cartman with him. “He doesn’t mean it like he’s trying to get rid of us.” 

“Even still,” Cartman muttered. He sulked on it for a couple more seconds, until a mastermind grin electrified his features. 

Kenny snorted. “I don’t like that look.” 

Cartman entwined their hands. “Come on.” 

Kenny bemusedly allowed himself to be shepherded into the living room. Cartman flopped longways across the couch and pulled Kenny on top of him. “Kiss me,” he ordered as Butters could be heard approaching. 

Kenny would’ve obeyed under any circumstances. Catching onto Cartman’s plan, he hammed it up, lifting on his elbows and sliding a knee between Cartman’s legs. Cartman moaned into his mouth and clutched his shoulders, though the hard-on firming against Kenny’s kneecap was anything but performative. 

“Alright, I’m heading out--” Butters cut off with a squeak, frozen at the base of the stairs. “Oh, um--” 

Kenny parted and licked his lips, flicked his long hair back with a twitch of his head. “See ya later.”

Cartman sat up against the couch’s armrest. “Have fun.” He tangled his fingers in Kenny’s hair. “We’ll be having a good time here, won’t we?” 

“Heh,” Kenny giggled, nearly blowing their cover; Cartman dug into his scalp, and he cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah.” 

Butters sniffed. “Don’t let me stop y’all.” 

Kenny’s heart panged. When they initially brought Butters into the fold he’d been forever hesitant to take advantage of the open invitation they routinely extended, one-on-one or together as three. Those times had long since past, and he was no longer afraid to claim the privilege that was rightfully his, yet the despondent edge to his voice bespoke old grievances. 

Cartman wasn’t so sympathetic. “Thanks for the permission,” he barked, and lassoed Kenny into another kiss. 

Kenny braced his palm on Cartman’s chest and pried away. “Wait, Butters--” 

Butters stilled one step toward the kitchen, hands held in loose fists, ready to revert to his nervous tic of rubbing his knuckles together. “Yeah?”

“C’mere.” Butters obliged; Kenny drew him over the back of the couch with the hand not barricading Cartman’s heart and pressed their lips together. “I love you.” 

Butters smiled, relieved like he feared their affection could be stolen away at a moment’s notice, which he probably did. “Aw, shucks. I love you too.” 

Kenny fisted Cartman’s t-shirt. With a grievous exhalation, Cartman pecked Butters’ cheek, unwilling to express his matching sentiment mouth-to-mouth or word-for-word. 

Butters took Cartman’s impish resignation in stride, eyes alighting with patient understanding. “I love you too, Eric.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Cartman drawled, laying back down. He batted Butters’ arm. “Put in a prayer for Kenny, alright?” 

“I pray for both y’all every day and night,” Butters ensured with utmost seriousness that fell to puzzled amusement. “I can squeeze in an extra one, though. What for?” 

Cartman’s hands slid up to grasp Kenny’s ass. “I’m gonna fuck him so good he’ll die.” 

“Jesus,” Kenny chuckled, even as his cock stirred in his pants. 

“I don’t pray in jest, Eric,” Butters reprimanded. Cheeks tellingly flushed, he stroked Kenny’s hair behind his ear while still addressing Cartman, making Kenny feel like some sort of inanimate object, a concept he wasn’t particularly opposed to when treated so reverentially. “Or vain. No divine intervention’s gonna get in the way of what you want.” 

“Ain’t that the truth,” Cartman attested, grinding his pelvis up into the underside of Kenny’s crotch. 

“Ah,” Kenny yelped. He shifted his hand lower onto Cartman’s stomach for more expansive purchase. Cartman’s neon gaze and insistent touch compelled him to play his part, but he wasn’t playing anymore, and everything he said next he meant. “Stay, please--don’t leave me alone with this fuckin’ guy--” 

“Oh, Ken,” Butters crooned, sweet as Cartman was sour, Kenny being the unwitting chicken up for slaughter. 

“I mean it,” Kenny wheezed; Cartman had bent and spread his legs, manufacturing a scaffold for Kenny’s ass as he busied his hands rolling down the hem of Kenny’s basketball shorts. Kenny’s cock bobbed outward, in commando as it was whenever he was home, already hefty with arousal. “Butters, he’s gonna fuckin’ kill me, dude--” 

“Not if you don’t kill me first!” Butters smeared final kiss along Kenny’s clenched jaw, then dipped over the back of the couch and walloped Cartman’s mouth with his. “Be nice, Eric! Don’t kill Kenny!” 

“I’m gonna kill Kenny,” Cartman vowed, nipping Butters’ bottom lip as he pumped Kenny’s shaft. 

“I have to go,” Butters hissed regretfully, almost to himself. He shuffled backwards, adjusting his pastel button-down over his ironed slacks exclusively retained for Jesus. “I love you, you’re so hot, oh my God--” He clapped his hands over his mouth. “Oh my gosh! Oh, I gotta go--” And he raced into the kitchen. 

The back door slammed shut. Cartman slowed his ministrations to a merciful level, cocked his head at Kenny with an unmerciful grin. “Hook, line, and sinker.” 

“Uhhh,” Kenny replied. 

Cartman snickered. “I always forget how quick you bottom out.” He palmed the length of Kenny’s cock, teasing the root of Kenny’s scrotum with his fingertips. “I’m speaking metaphorically, of course. Look at that package. How much does it cost to ship to my hole?” 

“Would you shut the fuck up,” Kenny whined, quivering taught as a bow. “Do whatever the hell you want, just shut up--” 

“Alright,” Cartman said, “cool your tits.” 

He kneed Kenny off the couch and bussed Kenny upstairs to their bedroom. Kenny collapsed onto the bed, kicked his shorts off and discarded his t-shirt, exposing himself to the draft of their poorly-insulated home. Cartman ducked into the en suite, plucked a towel off the floor that smelled of Butters’ fruity shampoo which he unceremoniously spread under Kenny’s ass, then shed his own clothes before sliding over Kenny. 

Kenny shuddered. He’d never been a chubby chaser, but after being with Cartman so long he may as well received an honorary title. Cartman’s blocky flab ensconced him in warmth, pressurized him down into the mattress, offered endless handholds. He stroked Cartman’s flanks, wiggling what he could of his entombed body from his navel up. “Eric, hey, what’s--what’re we doing, here--” 

“You’re gonna lay there and take it,” Cartman said, and stretched toward the side table for a their industrial-size bottle of lube. 

He squirted some directly onto Kenny’s cock; a high-pitched shout burbled from Kenny’s chest as the cool gel globbed past his balls and down his perineum to be absorbed by the towel. Cartman ignored Kenny’s keening and reached behind to finger himself, his other hand braced between Kenny’s knees, his feet planted on either side of Kenny’s torso. 

Kenny observed his slick, pistoning fingers through half-lidded eyes, mouth parted in drooled breaths. “Eric,” he groaned, veins thrumming, cock throbbing, pre-cum beading. 

“Kenny,” Cartman parodied back, inserting a third finger between his cheeks. His eyes fluttered shut as he curled against his prostate. Were Butters present he’d encourage Cartman to have mercy, soothe Kenny’s desperation with soft kisses and pets, but Butters wasn’t present, leaving Cartman’s infernal devices unchecked and unmitigated. 

“Please,” Kenny begged. “I’m dying.” 

“You could use a little death,” Cartman said. "La petite mort. You know what that means?” 

“No,” Kenny sniffled. 

Cartman squinted. “You’re gonna find out.” He removed his hand, rolled onto his knees, and stuffed his fingers into Kenny’s mouth. Kenny choked, then forced his throat to unwind, lathing the musky taste off Cartman’s skin. “That’s it,” Cartman praised. He thumbed the saliva off Kenny’s chin, leaned back to raise his pelvis. “Help me out, princess.” 

Kenny’s hand flew to his cock. He held himself upright as Cartman lowered inch by inch, then held himself at bay as Cartman took the tip of his cock. His head craned back, neck tendons flexing taught, tongue lolled in silent cries. Cartman relinquished his grip by his wrist and dropped down to his hilt in one fluid, expert slide. 

“Aw, yeah,” Kenny said. “Aw, fuck, Eric--” 

Cartman squeezed him from the inside. “Shut up.” He initiated a bouncy, unpredictable rhythm. “God, you’re fucking annoying.” 

“Sorry,” Kenny babbled. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll shut up--” 

“Then act like you’re twelve and be quiet,” Cartman said. “I miss when you were mute, you know? Didn’t have to listen to your dumb bullshit.”

Kenny snared his bottom lip between his teeth. Cartman rewarded his silence with a brutal, punishing pace, gouging Kenny into the creaky bedsprings. Kenny’s hips protested and lit a trail of gunpowder up his spine that ignited between his shoulder blades. It hurt so bad it was good, then became so good it turned bad again. Cartman was relentless, ruthless, a sadist and a bully--he relished in Kenny’s pained whimpers, his own stubby cock thickening at the tears gathering in Kenny’s eyes. Responsive anger formed in Kenny’s gut, but he’d never been able to match Cartman’s fire; the anger crumpled like a house of cards and his tears spilled out in broken sobs. 

Cartman stuttered to a halt. “Kenny, hey--” He curled forward, causing Kenny’s cock to nearly slide out of him. 

“Don’t,” Kenny said. Unable to buck his hips trapped beneath Cartman’s weight, he grappled Cartman’s sides. “Don’t, I’m fine--” 

“You don’t look fine,” Cartman observed, nonetheless easing back. “What’s wrong? Too much?” 

“No,” Kenny lied. 

Cartman’s brow furrowed. “Princess.” 

Kenny submitted to his patriarchal tone. “I miss Butters,” he admitted. He reached for a steadying presence that wasn’t there, cried harder at its lack. “I want Butters, Eric--” 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Cartman shushed. “I know, baby girl.” Conflict warred across his features. “I think we should stop.” 

Kenny’s hands snapped back to Cartman’s sides. “You leave me high and dry, I’m gonna lose it--” 

“Okay,” Cartman said, covering Kenny’s hand with his own. “It’s okay, Daddy’s here.” 

Kenny really hated when Cartman called himself that, but he couldn’t muster the effort to refute him, especially when Cartman resumed his undulations. He tried his best to rescind to Cartman’s much gentler fucking. His emotions were all over the place. He felt torn apart, atomized, half his soul chasing after the man teaching kids the gospel across town. Cartman watched him closely, rubbing up and down his abdomen, pumping up and down his cock. 

The only way out was down; Kenny pushed himself over the edge, mashed his mind to mush. “Daddy,” he mewled. 

Cartman spurred at the appeal to authority. “Daddy’s here, baby girl, I gotcha.” 

It wasn’t the maternal airs Butters’ exuded, yet diametrically opposed enough to be similar. Kenny let go, dropped into the ethereal head space where his thoughts scattered to nothing, anchored by Cartman’s brusque comforts. Cartman was good at guiding Kenny here but his talents stopped at direction, the net he casted flimsy at best. Kenny never realized until Butters entered the equation, arms spread in merciful benediction, a buoy in the dark. He serviced Cartman as well, molded Cartman’s molten methods into order. They weren’t inoperable without him, but they were augmented with him, and Kenny yearned for his guidance. 

The fuzzy cocoon contracted, convexed, then concaved to a singular point of release. Kenny came to some indeterminate amount of time later. He blinked his eyes open and found Cartman nestled beside him, wiping his overspent cock with a wet rag. 

“Welcome back,” Cartman said. 

Kenny grimaced. He set his elbows underneath him and sat up. “I’m sorry--” 

“Shut up, Kenny,” Cartman sighed without bite. He tossed the rag aside, cupped Kenny’s jaw, and pulled him into a chaste kiss. “It’s all good.” 

Kenny glanced down. “Did you--?” 

“Yes,” Cartman smirked. He thumbed the sweaty fly-aways plastered to Kenny’s temple. “Bit of a rough landing, huh?” 

“I dunno what happened,” Kenny mumbled. 

“I went too far,” Cartman said. 

Kenny knocked their foreheads together. “I let you, didn’t I?” 

“Theoretically,” Cartman granted. “I still don’t like it.” 

“It’s on me,” Kenny said. The transference went both ways--Cartman trusted him to know his limits. He flopped onto his stomach, stretched his limbs, the pop of his hip echoing. For all the drama, he was undeniably sated. “I’m alright, I promise.” 

Cartman sketched a trail down his back. “I don’t believe you.” 

“Daddy,” Kenny whispered. 

Cartman flattened his hand, his wide palm encompassing three of Kenny’s vertebrae. “Yeah?” 

“I’m not a liar,” Kenny said. 

“I know,” Cartman said, nullifying his earlier accusation. He looped his arm around Kenny’s waist. “How can I make it better?” 

Kenny grinned into the bedsheets. “Rob Schneider movie?” 

“Fat chance,” Cartman scoffed. 

“Please?” Kenny asked. 

“Agh--” Cartman thumped his back. “Fine. Only ‘cause you scared me half to death. La petite mort isn’t suicide, y’know.” He rolled off the bed, joints crackling, and snatched the remote from the dresser belonging to the TV mounted above. 

They both donned fresh lounge wear. Kenny wormed between Cartman’s legs when he returned, using his pillowy torso as a recliner while Cartman critiqued the movie at length and braided Kenny’s hair into tiny knots that fell apart immediately upon completion. Willed to drowsiness by his boyfriend’s grooming and Rob Schnieder’s peak comedy, Kenny nodded off halfway into the film. 

He awoke as the credits rolled. A shadowy form disrupted the dark glow of the room, neared, and solidified into Butters’ concerned countenance; Cartman must’ve texted him an account of Kenny’s accidental suicide. “Heya, princess.” 

“The princess isn’t seeking council,” Cartman announced. 

The mattress dipped under Butters’ knee. “I’ll have her tell me that.” 

“The princess wants to sleep,” Kenny huffed. 

Butters backed off. “Alright, honey.”

Kenny curled into his own middle spot in the bed, listened as Cartman rose to turn off the TV and Butters undressed. They reconvened around Kenny, transgressions forgiven until dawn; Kenny puddled within their joint embrace, reassured in the integrity of their triangular bond when Butters reached across his back to palm Cartman’s shoulder. 

“Love you,” Butters murmured. 

“For the love of all that you deem holy, Stotch,” Cartman bemoaned. “I love you too. Now go to bed.” 

Butters retracted his arm, unconvinced. Kenny sought him through the dark. “Mommy.” 

Butters’ breath hitched. “Ken?” 

“We’ll talk in the morning,” Kenny decreed. 

“I picked up another shift,” Butters ruefully informed. “Stacey’s gotta take her son to the doctor, and her husband couldn’t get time off--” 

“We’ll talk after,” Kenny said. 

Cartman stiffened at his back. “Unless you find a cat stuck in a tree on your way home.” 

“Eric,” Kenny cautioned. 

“Or a burning orphanage,” Cartman added. 

“I’d find a way to save the cat and put out the fire with more than enough time left over,” Butters promised. 

Well, Kenny would hold him to it. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this got a lot more theological than i expected. take it all with a grain of skeptic salt. if you're the type of person who loves religious parallels like me, you could theoretically equate cartman with the father, butters with the son, and kenny with the holy spirit. 
> 
> last time i said this would wrap up in 3 chapters. we're now looking at 4, probably.

Wednesdays used to be the sanctimonious prologue to everyone’s collective day off from work, before Butters singlehandedly facilitated Hell’s Pass pediatric ward. They’d share a dinner prepared by Cartman, partake in each other’s idiosyncratic extracurriculars, then conclude the evening with a round of sex encored throughout the following Thursday. 

Kenny couldn’t remember the last time they all bedded together unhurried or enjoyed each other’s company at leisure. Such events required a minimum of planning when coordinated between three individuals, and each of them circulated determining the agenda. Cartman, film buff and conspiracy theorist, would chose from his extensive movie collection or backlog of obscure documentaries on flimsy educational grounds; Kenny either tended to his pixelated farmstead with Butters in Stardew Valley or gunned down online opponents with Cartman in a myriad of shooters; and Butters continued the tradition he formed with his mother watching soap operas, tirelessly answering Kenny and Cartman’s inquiries about decades-long plot lines. 

It’d been weeks since Butters’ schedule aligned with theirs. Kenny was frankly sick of pulling his slack on the farm, and sick of being the only victim to Cartman’s wacky political tirades. He couldn’t deny that he was also curious about the latest story in Butters’ show, wondering if whoever’s husband had survived that helicopter crash and whoever else’s daughter woke up from her coma. 

As it was, Cartman and Kenny were left to fend for themselves for yet another Thursday. This wasn’t a problem in itself--they’d been together preceding Butters’ entrance and, Kenny hoped, would remain together succeeding Butters’ potential exit, trinitarian God forbid But there was an undeniable gap between them now. They snagged on each other’s jagged edges, quicker to anger and slower to reach out; the gap had to be filled, fast, or else left open so they could wear themselves down back to coexistence without a mediating third. 

“Quit freaking out,” Cartman said. He stretched his foot across the couch and toed Kenny’s side. “You’re gonna fry your brain.” 

Kenny detained Cartman’s foot between his hip and the couch cushion. “I’m not freaking out. I’m just...thinking.” 

Cartman turned back to the screaming broads on the television. “That’ll fry your brain, too.” 

“So’s this,” Kenny said. “What’s even happening?” 

“It’s the vacation special,” Cartman informed. “Vacations are always the best.” 

Kenny scrunched his nose. “Really?” 

“Yes,” Cartman said. “Pay attention.” 

“It’s so boring,” Kenny moaned, slumping low. “They’re just fighting over dumb shit.” 

“That’s the point,” Cartman stressed as a silicone-breasted brunette chucked a glass of wine at a botoxed bottle-blond.

“I dunno why Butters likes this stuff,” Kenny said. “I’m pretty sure it checks all the boxes for sin.” 

“That’s probably why he likes it. People get off on seeing other people give in to their base desires. Greed, wrath, envy, gluttony--” Cartman gestured at the two women dripping in wine and diamonds. “They’ve got it all in spades for us middle-class schmucks to enjoy. Really, it’s the perfect analogy for modern society.” 

Hailing from the lowest economic bracket there was, Kenny would never approve of such gross indulgence no matter how upward he mobilized. “It’s stupid, and it’s boring, and I hate it.” 

Cartman wrested his foot from Kenny’s improvised trap. “Then go do something else!” 

“I wanna spend time with you,” Kenny said.

Cartman huffed. “You aren’t gonna swoon me into changing the channel, kiss ass.” 

Kenny thus relented to another hour of rich bitch bullshit. He lost a brain cell for every second of their buffoonery, respite found only in intermittent commercials screaming at him to purchase a new car, go see the next blockbuster, and vote for Garrison in the upcoming election. That was the real analogy for modern society, he thought, grumpily retrieving his phone from the coffee table. He lost brain cells playing his mindnumbing freemium game, too, but at least of his own volition. Sin was everywhere, there was no escaping it--even for Butters, whose suspicious _Have a minute?_ text interrupted Kenny’s candy crushing. 

He straightened and blindly fumbled for Cartman’s knee. “Eric, pause it.” 

Cartman obeyed without question. “What’s wrong?” 

“Butters,” Kenny said, thumbing an affirmative reply. His phone rang seconds later. Cartman shuffled closer, brow pinched in concern as Kenny answered. “Babe?” 

“Oh, Kenny,” Butters gasped, voice thick with tears. 

Kenny locked eyes with Cartman. “Butters, what--” 

“It’s awful,” Butters said. “I shouldn’t’ve, but I had to, and she was there--” 

He could only be referring to one person. Kenny swallowed an expletive, canted his phone away from his mouth as Butters continued flubbing senseless refrains. “Linda.” 

“Fucking hell,” Cartman cursed. “Put him on speaker.” 

Kenny reoriented his phone between them. “Butters, babe, you’re on speaker, okay? Eric’s here.” 

“Hey, Eric,” Butters sniffled. 

Cartman didn’t waste time with softspoken reassurances. “Where are you?” 

The straightforward question set Butters calm. “Wal-mart parking lot. In my car. Been here for awhile. I shoulda called sooner but, oh, I was a right mess, Daddy--” 

Kenny winced. Butters had even worse paternal hangups than Kenny; he certainly was a right mess to bank on Cartman’s ridiculous self-imposed title. 

A title Cartman took very seriously. “That’s alright, Butters,” he soothed. “Come home to Daddy. I’ll take care of you.” 

“Me too,” Kenny tacked on.

“Baby girl’s worried,” Cartman said. “Can’t say no to a princess. She’s speaking on royal authority.” 

“We’ll pick you up, even, if you want.” Kenny shifted his grip to Cartman’s arm as Cartman retracted his knee, ready to leap off the couch and grab his keys. “Daddy’ll drive you home, I’ll get your car, no sweat--” 

“Don’t,” Butters screeched, ricocheting back to full panic, making Kenny panic a little himself. “She’s still here!” 

“Your mom?” Kenny asked. 

Butters quieted, as if Linda was going to ground him for raising his tone. “She’s parked next to me and won’t leave.” 

“That bitch,” Cartman hissed. He stole Kenny’s phone. “Butters, you can leave! Just go!” 

“She’s my mother,” Butters moaned. 

“Like that means anything,” Cartman snapped. “You know what I do when I see my mom out in public? I bend over and tell her to kiss my ass.” 

“You’re not helping,” Kenny said, evidenced by how Butters burbled, affronted, at Cartman’s suggestion. 

Cartman corralled his misdirected rage. “Okay, okay. Just walk me through what happened.” He looked at the cable box’s clock. “You were supposed to be home an hour ago, yeah?” 

“I stopped by the store,” Butters said. “I wanted to get you fellas something nice for being so neglectful.” 

Damn him and his golden heart. “You didn’t need to do that,” Kenny sighed. “We don’t want nothing besides you--” 

“So you get to Wal-mart,” Cartman interrupted. “Did she corner you inside, or on your way out?” 

“I don’t wanna say,” Butters said. “It’ll ruin the surprise!” 

“The surprise doesn’t mean shit,” Cartman said. “I couldn’t give less of a fuck about the fucking surprise. What was it--flowers, chocolate? They don’t sell triple-ended dildos, and we all know that’s been on my wishlist--” 

Kenny slid his hand up to Cartman’s trembling shoulder. “Eric, calm down. Seriously.” Cartman shoved his phone back at him, unable to remain levelheaded. Tasked with keeping both his partners at ease, Kenny buried his own heightened emotions, petting Cartman as he lowered into his most dulcet tones. “Butters, listen--” 

“She’s staring at me,” Butters reported. “Lord knows what she’s thinking.” 

“Tell him to flip her the bird and peel out,” Cartman said. 

Kenny ignored him. “Don’t look at her. She don’t deserve a glimpse of your pretty face.” 

“That’s a real laugh,” Butters said. 

“You’re gorgeous,” Kenny insisted. “You’re a fucking peach, alright? And who cares what she thinks. I don’t. She ain’t my mommy. You are.” 

“Don’t you bring that up now,” Butters said, his anxiety flaring to anger. “That’s--that’s different! It has nothing to do with this!” 

“Like hell it don’t,” Kenny retorted. “It has everything to do with it! That’s why you’re so damn good at it! You’re doing everything she never did for you, same as Eric!” 

“What about you, mister psychologist?” Butters asked. “You ain’t breaking no pattern--you’re following one! You just sit there and take whatever Eric gives you, just like you took your daddy’s belt!” 

Kenny froze, thrown off by the venom in his words. “Butters, babe...” 

Cartman soured. “That was a little uncalled for, Leopold.” 

“You are not my father,” Butters spat. “He ain’t of this world, and compels me to honor my earthly parents--” 

“And not get butt-fucked by two men,” Cartman reminded, “which you so readily volunteered for!”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have,” Butters said, steady as Christ walked on water. “Maybe this is a sign from God. To remember who I was before.” 

Kenny rapidly recalled Sunday school lessons of old. “What about, you know, good fruit? Our tree bears pretty good fruit, all things considered, don’t it?” 

Butters laughed, acerbic and short. “Our tree bears rotten apples.” 

“This metaphor’s a rotten apple,” Cartman said. “I don’t know what your mom told you, but she’s fucking with your head. Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. You’re Catholic as her and queer as your dad, and she knows exactly what’ll set you off.” 

“I owe it to her to listen,” Butters said. “God made me her son for a reason.” 

“Because God’s an asshole,” Cartman said. 

“You’re an asshole, Eric,” Butters said. “And so are you, Kenny. You two deserve each other.” 

Kenny dropped his phone like it was a hot iron. “Butters, you aren’t--are you breaking up with us?”

“I...” Butters paused. His resolution didn’t crack, but cemented itself; the downside to his unfaltering morals was that once he rationalized a bad idea into a good idea it took a miracle--or a tragedy--to change his mind. “I guess so.” 

“Don’t say that,” Kenny said. “Don’t say that, you don’t mean it--” 

“I mean it,” Butters confirmed. “It’ll be good for me, and for you two--” 

Cartman snatched Kenny’s phone with as much strength as he probably wanted to snatch Butters’ neck. “You aren’t getting rid of us without our permission, Stotch! Daddy’s coming for you, baby boy, hell or high water. Hold tight to your crucifix--because I’m out for blood!” With that, he hung up and jumped to his feet. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” 

“Why the hell’d you say all that for?” Kenny demanded, catching his phone as Cartman threw it away, outfield reflexes obtained during little league games resurfacing amidst his fight-or-flight response. “Now I gotta call him back and who knows if he’ll answer--” 

“Waste of time,” Cartman barked. “We could’ve been there already if you weren’t such a pushover!” He scratched his bangs off his reddening forehead. “Goddamn it, Kenny! You’re supposed to be a fucking shrink, and you couldn’t tell he was gonna go haywire?” 

“I can’t predict how somebody’ll react,” Kenny said. “I was trying to talk him down--” 

“Lotta good that did,” Cartman said. “You got even more worked up than me!” 

Kenny drooped forward, covered his face with his hands. “Didja miss what he said about me taking my daddy’s belt?”

Cartman’s breath hitched, then released in an exhausted exhale. He cradled Kenny’s head against his stomach. “I heard, princess.” 

“He’s never been so mean,” Kenny said, holding onto Cartman’s waist. “Not once in his whole life--” 

“It’s Linda,” Cartman said. “She’s a snake. She’s the devil.” 

“You don’t believe in the devil,” Kenny mumbled. 

“I don’t,” Cartman said, “but Butters does. He’s going Old Testament on our asses. We gotta fight fire and brimstone with fire and brimstone, don’t we?” 

“I don’t fucking know,” Kenny said. 

Cartman tilted Kenny’s chin up and wiped his tears away. “Look--don’t tell him I told you this, but maybe he’s onto something. I mean, if an angel like him deigned to be with us--” His hand came to rest in Kenny’s hair. “Makes you kinda believe in miracles, doesn’t it?” 

Kenny broke down in a fresh wave of tears. “That’s the lamest, gayest thing I’ve ever heard you say--” 

“Which is why Butters will never know,” Cartman said. He lifted Kenny off the couch and smashed their lips together. “We’re leaving in five.” 

Cartman whisked upstairs. Kenny stood in the middle of the living room, still crying, shoulders hunched. Virgin Mary besieged him from the corner of his eye; for the first time in all of Butters’ residency Kenny staggered toward the shrine and got on his knees, hands clasped. He felt pretty fucking retarded, but Butters wasn’t here to pay her dues and Cartman sure as shit wouldn’t kneel for anyone besides them, so it was up to Kenny to garner divine favor. 

Half-forgotten prayers he recited without faith as a child, and had overheard Butters recite with faith so absolute it’d move mountains should God deem it to be so, stumbled off his tongue. He discarded the spoken word and dug for memories unfettered by verbal decorum--the glistening chestnut of the pews, the starchy fabric of his First Communion suit, the silky pages of church-issued Bibles turned translucent under his fingertips from decades of use, their small-point font indecipherable to his adolescent mind. He remembered Cartman, barely visible amongst the crowd of parishioners, turning around to make a bored face; he remembered Butters, poised behind Father Maxi at the altar, dressed in his pure white alb and doused in stained-glass refractions, smiling with pride and purpose and piety.

Kenny began speaking, unconscious of what he was saying. Butters would’ve recognized his words as The Memorare. He must’ve known of the devotional, but not enough for it to imprint on his subconscious. He realized, with a strike of clarity, that this was not of himself but something larger than.

His eyes flew open. The porcelain figurine before him seemed to smile in approval, the framed depiction of the fruit of her loins likewise in occurrence; the candle flames surrounding each wavered, magnified, then settled so quickly Kenny might have believed it was nothing but a trick of the light. 

“Amen,” he concluded. 

A more immediate presence materialized behind him: Cartman with Butters’ Bible in hand, a small pistol secured in the waistband of his jeans. He made no comment, only asking, “Think she heard you?” 

“She better have,” Kenny said, “for all Butters believes in her.” 

He looked back at the Madonna, whose smile had transitioned into Mona Lisa’s beguiling smirk. Kenny didn’t have the aptitude to fathom such things and left it to universal mystery. He rose from his spiritual submission in favor of earthly deference, slunk to Cartman’s side and entwined their hands. 

“Doubt they’re still at Wal-mart,” Cartman said in the car, rocketing past the residential speed limit. “If he isn’t at his parents’ I’m putting in a missing persons report.” 

Kenny sent him a sidelong grin. “You know, we haven’t talked with ‘em. Not since Butters got with us for real.” 

“Better late than never,” Cartman said. “I’ve been wanting to give them a piece of my mind. Just like I gave your folks.” 

“So you wanna deck his dad in the face,” Kenny discerned. 

“His mom, too,” Cartman grunted. 

Kenny reached across the Bible sitting on the middle console and grasped Cartman’s thigh. “Save it. We’re gonna go in, get Butters, and get out.” He eyed Cartman’s pistol. “And don’t shoot nobody in the process.” 

“It’s an intimidation tactic,” Cartman inefficiently dismissed. 

“Don’t wanna intimidate Butters,” Kenny warned. 

“He needs to understand the lengths we’ll go,” Cartman said. “Homicide, deicide--doesn’t matter to me.” 

“What’s with the Bible, then, blasphemer?” Kenny asked. 

“Open it up,” Cartman instructed. “He’s got damn never every other verse highlighted. Take a gander at Colossians. 3:12 through 14.” He snorted at Kenny’s shocked expression. “What, you think I haven’t read it? How the hell could I be against something I don’t know?” 

“You read Butters’ Bible, though?” Kenny clarified, taking the well-worn tome in his hands. Cartman’s affirmative hum widened his eyes further. “When? And where the fuck was I?” 

“That’s between me, Butters, and the nonexistent Lord,” Cartman said. “You wanna take a crack at it, ask him. He’d jizz his pants.” He detached his hand from the wheel and poked the Bible’s cover. “Go on, look.” 

Kenny postponed his building inquiries for later askance and opened the Bible. Butters had definitely highlighted as much scripture as Cartman implied--washes of color fanned under Kenny’s thumb as he sought the referenced verse. Finally he arrived at Colossians, hopscotched to the third chapter, and read: 

_Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity._

“Check the annotations,” Cartman said.

Kenny reexamined the verse, noted that Butters had underlined “in perfect unity” thrice and “love” doubly so. He then fingered Butters’ loopy cursive neatly sequestered in the adjacent margin, which simply penned his and Cartman’s names decorated in juvenile hearts.

“Fuck,” Kenny breathed, speaking past a newfound lump in his throat. “He’s such a fucking kid, sometimes--” 

“Adorable, isn’t it?” Cartman asked. “That’s our Butters.” 

“I love him,” Kenny said, not that it needed to be said or that it required Cartman’s witness. “Much as I love you. ”

“Probably more than me, some days,” Cartman quipped. 

Kenny let out an airy chuckle, inhaled on the brink of tears. “If we lose him--” 

“We won’t,” Cartman stated with the confidence of a logical materialist. “Have a little faith, Kenny.” 

They turned into their childhood neighborhood. Or rather Butters and Cartman’s, so Kenny’s by proxy. Memories of street hockey games, broken limbs, and boyhood achievements coalesced from thin air, none passing the threshold of the sidewalks which contained domestic haunts. There wasn’t a front lawn darker than the Stotches’. Butters had yet to divulge the worst of his stories--and the anecdotes he shared were already bad--but Kenny could imagine their contents, each personified by ghostly apparitions of Butters throughout the years, all lined up to greet them as they parked behind Butters’ sedan on the curb then proceeded down the foot path toward the front door. Kenny wished he could reach back in time and heal their hurts; present healing would have to suffice, should the grown man inside allow it. 

Cartman kissed Kenny on the doorstep. Kenny careened backwards, Butters’ Bible bracketed between their chests. “For luck?” 

“Nah,” Cartman said, “just felt like it. Watch this.” 

He knocked the door. Linda, incidentally or by godly design, was the one who answered. She slotted herself in the doorjamb, blocking them from Butters’ view, who sat on the sofa rubbing his knuckles together, head bowed, a blue blanket draped over his shoulders. 

Before she could get a word in edgewise or Butters was alerted to their arrival, Cartman held out the Bible. “Hello, ma’am. Have you heard the good word?” 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a shorter chapter as the flow was difficult to pin down and i didn't wanna extend it past narrative expiration. i'm a bit of a cocktease when it comes to writing and leave the blanks to the readers' imaginations (aka i'm lazy af). there will be an epilogue to follow featuring the long awaited threeway and lots of fluff. i've also started writing a supplementary one shot to go along with this verse which i'm very excited to finish. 
> 
> i changed the title to match [the song i've been playing whilst writing this.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R1h9bcrC6Q8) the original title was just something random i pulled from the first chapter for lack of anything better, but i don't think it befit the story's themes. apologies for any confusion. see you next time for the grand, gay finale.

Linda’s powdered wrinkles sharpened into a barbed scowl. “Leave.” 

“You should really check it out,” Cartman said, undeterred. “Lots of stuff about acceptance, unconditional love, family--” 

“I have read it,” Linda said, “and I understand more than you, I’m sure--” 

“That’s the thing,” Cartman interjected. “I’m an atheist. And nobody knows the Bible better than an atheist.” 

Hand braced on the butt of Cartman’s pistol, Kenny rose onto his tiptoes as they continued arguing and attempted to catch a glimpse of his brainwashed boyfriend. “Butters, babe--” 

Butters leapt off the coach, his blue vestment falling to his feet. “Ken?” 

Linda whirled. “Don’t speak to them, Leopold!” 

“This is a free country,” Cartman said. “One nation, under God. Butters has a right to free speech.” He shoved the Bible into Kenny’s gut and whipped out his pistol. “And I have a right to bear arms.” 

“Eric, you fucking maniac,” Kenny groaned. 

His lamentation was pointedly ignored, along with Linda’s gasp and Butters’ nervous approach. “Fellas, you oughtn’t be here--” 

“The under God part wasn’t even in the pledge of allegiance, originally,” Cartman explained, forcing his way inside; Kenny dogged his heels as Linda and Butters slowly backed away. “They added it in the fifties at the start of the Cold War. Not to uphold the faith, but to stick it to the commies.” 

“Stephen,” Linda shouted. “Get your gun!” 

Butters stepped forward--Linda clutched his wrist and he paused. His silver rosary dangled from his unaccosted hand which twitched, on instinct, to reach for Cartman and Kenny. 

“Hey, baby boy,” Cartman greeted. “Toldja Daddy’d come get you, didn’t I?” 

Heavy footsteps thundered down the staircase. Stephen Stotch stood at its base, holding a shotgun. “Excuse me?” 

Cartman swung his pistol. “This is awkward.” 

“Put that away, Eric,” Butters pleaded. “You too, Dad--I don’t want nobody getting hurt--” 

“Except yourself,” Kenny said. Butters stiffened. Not wanting to scare him off or get stuck in Stephen’s crosshairs, Kenny remained by Cartman’s side and besieged him with his eyes. “Come back home, babe.” 

“This is his home,” Linda seethed. 

Stephen cocked his shotgun. “Linda, dear--call the police.” 

Cartman clicked the safety of his pistol and waved in Linda’s direction. “Not so fast.” 

“Butters,” Stephen petitioned next. 

Butters’ gaze flicked between his parents and his partners. Cartman pursed his lips; Kenny minutely shook his head. Butters glanced away and nodded. “Yes, sir.” 

Cartman inserted himself in Stephen’s sights. “You’re a grown man, Butters! You don’t have to do what they--” 

A shot rang out. Cartman dove to the carpet and rolled on his back, aimed his pistol in case retribution was necessitated. “You missed, you son of a bitch!” 

“Dad,” Butters shrieked.

“Listen to your father, son,” Stephen commanded; Butters swiftly disappeared. 

Kenny shakily knelt beside Cartman. “You okay?” 

“I’m fine,” Cartman said. “Go deal with Butters.” 

“But,” Kenny began. 

Cartman grinned. “Listen to your father, baby girl.” 

Kenny grazed Cartman’s cheek as he stood, then proceeded toward the kitchen. A second warning shot fired behind his back when Linda made to follow. 

Butters spun at the noise. “Kenny! You and Eric gotta go--” 

“Not without you,” Kenny said. He spared a moment to assess the kitchen; it looked the same as ever, trussed in kitschy pastels and gaudy knickknacks. Deceivingly happy photos of Butters decorated the fridge, but Kenny easily spotted the pained edge to his forced smiles. “What are you even doing here, man? What’s this all about?” 

Butters folded in on himself. “My mom and I got to talking. She said the most damnedest things--” 

“I don’t mean that,” Kenny said. “You can tell us all that later. But why’d you even think of humoring her? Why’d you get so pissed at me and Eric? You said some damned things to me, too.” 

“I know,” Butters moaned. “I’m real sorry, Ken. I regretted it right after I said it, same with coming here. I just--I dunno. Y’all have been upset with me lately, and I know you had reason to, but I guess I thought it’d be easier if I--” 

“If you what, up and disappeared?” Kenny asked. 

Butters shrugged. “You got on fine before I was in the picture.” 

“We did,” Kenny confirmed. “But we got on better with you. And now...” He cupped Butters’ jaw. “I’m not sure if we’d get on at all without you.” 

Butters’ jaw clenched under his palm. “You and Eric are meant for each other, I know it--” 

“And you’re meant for us,” Kenny said. “C’mon, babe. A little disagreement ain’t gonna change that.” 

“Daddy’s gonna be cross with me,” Butters sniffed. 

Kenny operated under the assumption he was referring to Cartman. “Well, Daddy’s out there shooting at your daddy, so. All’s forgiven.” He pressed the Bible into Butters’ open hand. “You taught him that.” 

Butters fingered the embossed title gracing the book’s cover. “He didn’t need teaching. He’s full of the spirit.” 

Kenny laughed. Butters looked up, irked; Kenny quickly grasped his other hand which held the rosary. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just--Cartman’s full of the spirit much as a well run dry. That’s all your influence, Butters. Hell, I prayed today for the first time since I can remember.” 

Butters blinked. “You did?” 

“On my knees in front of Mother Mary, Mommy,” Kenny said, unable to withhold the comforting moniker. 

It seemed to assuage Butters. “I know she heard you, baby girl. She hears anybody who speaks from the heart.” 

Kenny glanced at the rosary glinting between their entwined fingers. “She must be hanging on to your every word, then. What you been asking her?” 

“Oh, that.” Butters separated their hands and wrangled the silver chain into his palm. “I wasn’t asking for nothing in particular.” He dipped his head. “Think she sent me an answer, anyway.” 

“Perfect unity,” Kenny pondered aloud. “Cartman showed me,” he added when Butters’ brow furrowed. 

“Forgive as the Lord forgave you,” Butters recited. “That’s all I was trying to do. For my parents.” 

“They ain’t the forgiving type,” Kenny said. “Why don’tcha turn your charity around and try forgiving yourself?” 

Butters smiled--fleeting and lukewarm, but honest. “Everything sounds so simple when you say it. You’re a real good counselor, Ken.” 

“I’m just a moron who knows how to listen,” Kenny said. “Let’s go see if Eric got his head blown off.” 

Stephen and Cartman had traded their firearms for their fists--which explained why Linda, scurrying around saving decor from their path of destruction, hadn’t tried intercepting Kenny’s talk with Butters. All three stilled when they entered the room. 

“So?” Cartman asked, Stephen pinned to the floor beneath him. 

Butters looked at his father and mother, then Kenny, then Cartman, and squared his shoulders, mouth quirked in a rebellious smirk. “I wanna go home, Daddy.” 

Cartman loosened his grip on Stephen’s collar and collected his pistol. “Thank Christ.” 

Stephen stood, blood leaking from his nose, all the dignity knocked out of him. “Butters--this was your last chance. The moment you walk out that door, you are no longer my son!” 

Cartman gripped Kenny’s shoulder, who wrapped an arm around Butters’ waist, who leaned into their joint touch. “My father ain’t of this world, and compels me to love,” Butters said.

Stephen turned away in defeat and disapproval; Linda was stayed by a mother’s stronger will. “I hope they’re worth the cost of their sins.” 

Butters disengaged from Kenny’s protective hold. “Mom...” 

“Code red,” Cartman hissed into Kenny’s ear. “Code red, code red--extraction maneuver is a go--” 

Kenny quelled him with a hand to his chest. “Hold your horses, hoss.” 

Butters stood before his mother, but it was Cartman to whom he spoke. “Eric, I’m real proud you turned to the scripture, but you didn’t even read Kenny my favorite verse. You know what that verse is?” 

“1 Corinthians 13,” Cartman instantly supplied.

“I know you know that one, Mom,” Butters said. “Heck, you’re the one who made me memorize it!” 

Linda nodded. “I...I did.” 

Butters opened his Bible. “So I’m not gonna read the whole thing, but I do want you to hear this bit--” 

“This is ridiculous,” Stephen groused. “My own son, preaching to me!”

“When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child,” Butters pressed on. “When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me.” The Bible thudded shut. “Growing up, all I did was wait for your forgiveness--for the day we could all come to terms and be a family. But I’m done waiting.” He looked to Stephen. “This wasn’t my last chance. It was yours. The second I walk out that door, I’m no longer beholden to you.” He placed the Bible at Linda’s feet and stepped backwards. “I’m gonna leave this here, for y’all to remember me by.” 

Linda plucked the Bible into her hands. Noticing this, Stephen snatched his shotgun from the floor and went upstairs, shunning both his wife and son. 

“You still have to answer to God, Leopold,” Linda said. “I hope one day He leads you home.” 

“He already did,” Butters said. “I love you, Mom. Always have and always will, no matter what.” 

Something like understanding passed over Linda’s face, only to be shuttered by a lifetime of ignorance. “I love you too.” 

“I love cock and cats,” Cartman cut in, “in case anyone was wondering.” 

Kenny elbowed him outside. “Shut the hell up, Eric.” 

Cartman lumbered back, refusing to be silenced. “Butters! Let’s get the fuck outta here. There’s an episode of Real Housewives with your name on it.” 

“Leopold,” Kenny murmured when Butters didn’t move. 

The quiet deliverance of his birth name, the name that God wrote in the Book of Life, is what stirred him to activity; he swished on his heels, out the door, and did not look back. 

Cartman gathered him into his arms. Kenny grasped the doorknob, noting Linda’s shameful downward glance as Butters cried. “I hope you know what you’re losing.” 

She armed herself with righteous apathy, Butters’ Bible clutched to her chest. “I am only losing a son. Leopold is losing his soul.” 

“There’s no reasoning with people like you,” Kenny said. “Your husband’ll never realize. You will. I can tell. But not till the end, when it’ll be too late. Butters is never coming back.” 

“That’s his choice,” Linda said, “and your influence.” 

“He’s his own man,” Kenny said. “And a good man. But Eric and I aren’t good men. You come around and mess with him again, we really will kill you.” He struggled for a final statement, something with fire and brimstone, and found a morsel of mercy instead. “May God forgive you.” 

He closed the door. Exhausted down to his soul, he couldn’t imagine how Butters felt. Cartman met his gaze over the crown of Butters’ head with an inquisitive frown. Kenny shrugged and scanned the lawn, Butters’ past apparitions replaced by early afternoon sunlight. He knew he’d see them again, when Butters decided to reveal them on his own terms. 

“Well,” Cartman said. “That was...a lot.” He kissed Butters’ temple. “You alright?"

“Uh-huh,” Butters mumbled. 

“I’ll get your car,” Kenny offered. 

Butters wiped his nose and placed his keys in Kenny’s palm. “Just don’t look in the back.” 

Kenny left Butters in Cartman’s care and sidled into Butters’ white four-door sedan, lined with cream interior accented by faux wood finish. He adjusted the seat to befit his shorter legs and fiddled with the rearview mirror. An explosion of color that caught his eye--the back seats were brimming with two giant flower arrangements and gifts catered to his and Cartman’s tastes. 

“Goddamn it, Butters,” he sighed. 

The crucifix hanging from the rearview bisected the bumper of Cartman’s large SUV, swung like a pendulum between Butters climbing into the passenger side and Cartman behind the wheel. Kenny lost them at a red light on Main Street and coursed home at an acceptably illegal pace; Cartman’s SUV sat in the driveway by the time he caught up and parked behind his own truck. 

He walked inside to be met with Cartman sitting alone on the couch. “Shower,” Cartman explained. 

Kenny tossed Butters’ keys onto the squat table beside the door and strode forward. “Is he okay?” 

Cartman flapped his hand. Kenny trapped it in his own and rested his elbows on the back of the couch. They listened the shower running upstairs, the water rushing through the pipes in the walls--hinted implications of Butters’ presence actualized upon his slow descent downstairs. 

“Heya, fellas.” Divested of his wrinkled scrubs, Kenny’s basketball shorts stretched taut along his built thighs, his torso swamped by one of Cartman’s hoodies. He folded the sleeves over his fists, spine demurely curled, looking fifteen years younger and angelically cherubic. “I got a lot of explaining to do, don’t I?” 

“Yeah,” Kenny said. “It can wait, though.” 

“Come here,” Cartman said. 

Butters laid between Cartman’s spread legs and peeked up at Kenny. “You didn’t look in the back, did you?” 

“Nope,” Kenny lied. “Surprise ain’t ruined.” 

“I’ll go out and get it in a few,” Butters said. 

Cartman stroked his damp hair. “Just chill out for a sec.” 

Kenny reached down to assist in massaging his scalp. “That was huge, what you did.” 

Butters closed his eyes. “Think it was the right thing?” 

“It doesn’t matter if it’s right or wrong,” Cartman said. “It needed to be done.” 

“I still feel bad,” Butters pouted. 

Kenny hitched a leg over the back of the couch and thumped beside Butters’ feet, which he pulled into his lap. “That’s ‘cause you’re a good person. A forgiving person. But it ain’t on you to forgive them. Not anymore, at least.” He reclined his head, gaze magnetized to the shrine in the corner of the room. “You have to leave that up to God.” 

“The more I try to act right by Him, the more He reminds me of His might,” Butters said. “Guess my hubris got the best of me.” 

“Jesus already went on the cross for you,” Kenny said. “You don’t gotta crucify yourself to make a point.” 

“We all have our cross to bear,” Butters said. 

“So bear it,” Cartman said. “But don’t make it into more than what it is.” 

Butters propped his chin on Cartman’s chest. “And what is it, exactly?” 

“Nothing but a memory, now,” Cartman said. “If you’d quit holding on and let go.” 

“You ain’t bearing it alone, neither,” Kenny supplemented. 

Butters lowered his head once more. “I didn’t know I meant that much to you.” 

Cartman opened his mouth, a thousand arguments at hand, but shelved them all and merely said, “I literally would’ve shot your dad.” 

Kenny snorted. “We love you, is what Eric’s saying.” 

“I love y’all too,” Butters said. 

“You aren’t just our plus one,” Cartman assured him. “We’re in it, now, all three of us. If you want to be.” 

Butters rolled onto his side, looked up and Cartman and down at Kenny. “I do.” 

Kenny figured that a promise writ in discharged bullets under the eyes of God's handmaiden was the closest to holy matrimony they’d achieve, according to the state of Colorado’s marital laws and the limits of their own befuddled dispositions. He slanted his elbow into the scant space between Cartman and Butters and kissed them each to seal the deal. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is pure porn, y'all. i don't think i've written any smut of this length or detail, hopefully it's alright... added new tags for context. the amount of DP stuff i watched for purely research purposes, well. let's not go there. 
> 
> usually i'm either working on quick one-shots or longfics, so it was nice to finish something that fell in the middle. i also had a lot of fun giving this ot3 a whirl. hope you enjoyed! i have another fic related to this verse i'm gonna finish soon (with zero proselytizing). 
> 
> thanks for reading!

Rude awakenings seemed to be reserved only for Kenny’s days off; the universe could afford him thirty minutes in bed before work, but when he had the whole morning at his perusal the cosmos aligned and sent a beam of sunlight to yank him into neon consciousness. He rolled face-down into his pillow, beset by afterimages of light that forbid a return to sleep, and flailed his arms to make his discontent known. His right arm fell upon Cartman’s hulking mass--and his left upon empty mattress. 

He pried his eyes open. Partly censored by his mussed hair, Cartman’s consternated scowl greeted him good morning. “Where’s Butters?” he asked. 

Cartman lifted his head, checked over Kenny’s shoulder, and plopped back down. “I don’t fucking know.” He shuffled onto his side and stole the blanket. “Go find him.” 

With no choice now but to mobilize or freeze, Kenny got up and fumbled through his morning ambulations. Cartman’s snores had resumed their stuttered frequency by the time he exited the bathroom. He allowed himself a moment to observe his lethargic lug of a lover, then padded downstairs in search of their energetic counterpart. 

Kenny wasn’t necessarily a morning person--it was just that once he was up, he was up, no argument to be brokered. Butters, on the other hand, was the earliest of risers. The guy operated somewhere between the mortal plane and primordial omniscience. He’d wake up at five, go for a jog, scurry home to shower and chug a cup of coffee, then whisk out the door just as Kenny and Cartman roused awake with nothing but a goodbye kiss to start their day. His destination varied with whatever cause he’d taken on, whether it be ladling muck at the soup kitchen, scoring brownie points at church, or clocking overtime at Hell’s Pass. In hindsight, it was a miracle that he drove himself to mental ruin ahead of physical collapse. 

Kenny wasn’t sure which calamity he’d have preferred. Either one would’ve necessitated R&R, though Butters’ definition of such differed from the general populace. He was an embodied rift in the space-time continuum--never existing “at rest,” capable of being in a thousand places at once. Kenny might have been impressed if he wasn’t so disgruntled at being withheld his Leopold Stotch quota. Butters had a bottomless well of energy that overflowed and projected onto all whom he crossed paths; leech off him for long enough and eventually you’ll suffer withdrawals without it. 

For an entire week Kenny had gotten his overdue fix, thanks to his and Cartman’s insistence that Butters capitalize on his accrued vacation time. It’d been odd at first to look for him and realize he was at their side, right where he was supposed to be. Now Kenny was suffering that false sense of security. Butters wasn’t to be found anywhere--not in the living room, or the kitchen, or even down the block when Kenny glanced whilst grabbing the mail. 

Cartman slugged into the kitchen not soon after Kenny determined Butters ran away to join the Peace Corps. Bleary-eyed and bedheaded, he dropped at the table and wantonly demanded caffeine and cereal. They ate in silence punctuated by their clinking spoons and coffee slurps--and then back door swung open to reveal a haggard Butters. 

“Heya, fellas!” He swept forward, panting slightly. “How’re my favorite guys?” 

Cartman offered a noncommittal grunt. Butters’ smile twisted into a smirk; Kenny yanked him close by the sleeve of his athletic shirt and kissed the mirth off his face. “Where the fuck have you been?” 

Butters’ grin instantly slotted back into place. “Went out for a jog. Beat the birdies, even--I snatched all their worms!” He laughed at his own joke. 

“Why don’tcha sit down,” Cartman suggested, unamused. 

“Alright!” Butters unceremoniously dropped into Cartman’s lap, eyes twinkling. “This what you meant?” 

Cartman grimaced, but didn’t protest beyond remarking, “You’re too fucking loud.” 

“Sorry,” Butters stage-whispered. “How’s this?” 

“Tolerable,” Cartman said. 

Kenny blinked. Butters raised an eyebrow. “Something the matter, Ken?” 

“It’s nothing,” Kenny dismissed. 

Butters plucked an orange out of a bowl in the center of the table. “M’kay, mister.” 

Bright-faced and flush with runner’s high, he began peeling the fruit in a continuous ribbon that fell onto his thigh and passed his muscular calf down to the floor, then popped a slice past his lips and chewed with a pleased hum. 

“Want me to suck you off?” Kenny asked. 

Cartman snorted into his cereal bowl. 

Butters frowned. “Come again?” 

“I wanna suck your dick,” Kenny reiterated, “if that’s cool by you.” 

“Right now?” Butters glanced at himself. “I’m all stinky.” 

“Even better,” Kenny quipped, only half in jest. 

Butters twisted to face Cartman. “Did you rile him up, Eric?” 

“Nope,” Cartman said. 

“Well,” Butters huffed. “You don’t have to--” 

“Stop being so damn humble,” Cartman said, unaffectedly prodding his cereal. “Kenny wants to give you a blowjob, let him give you a blowjob. It’s not complicated.” 

Kenny slid out of his chair, onto his knees, and crawled between Butters’ legs. “Jeeze,” Butters yelped. “You’re rearing to go!” 

Kenny palmed his calves. “Sure am.” 

Butters squirmed against Cartman’s chest. No mercy to be found from either partner, he relaxed with an exasperated sigh. “I really oughta shower first.” 

“I don’t mind a little spunk,” Kenny promised. “I might even like it.” 

Butters’ muscles twitched under his hands. “Ah, well, um--” 

Kenny nosed the inside of his knee. “Have I ever told you how hot you look after a run?” 

“N-no,” Butters squeaked. 

“My bad.” Kenny flicked his tongue and lathed the salty perspiration off Butters’ skin. “You’re hot as fuck, for the record.” 

Butters jumped. “Hey! That tickles!” 

“La petite mort,” Cartman supplied. 

Butters’s chest heaved. “Huh? What’s that mean?” 

Kenny snickered. “You’re gonna find out.” 

He raked Butters’ compression shorts down his thighs, then fingered the small bulge trapped within his boxer briefs. 

“Oh,” Butters breathed. “Oh, alright, then.” 

Cartman smirked down at Kenny. “Go get ‘em, champ.” 

Kenny shoved Butters’ boxers to join his shorts. Blessed spiritually as well as physically, his cock was a verifiable Adonis recreation, perfectly proportioned unlike Cartman’s stump chode or Kenny’s thin rod, and tasted as good as it looked. Kenny positioned his head between Butters’ thighs for optimal skull-crushing and tongued the underside of Butters’ length, then hallowed his cheeks around Butters’ congruent girth. 

Cartman abandoned his apathetic pretenses and hitched Butters higher onto his lap. “Look at him, Butters. Baby girl’s dying to choke on your dick.” 

Kenny burbled accordance. The affirmative vibrated along Butters’ shaft; Butters instinctively pumped his hips, forcing himself deeper into Kenny’s mouth. Kenny loosened his jaw, chin grazing Cartman’s leg, and suckled Butters to home base, nostrils flared in Butters’ tawny pubic hair. 

“That’s it,” Cartman encouraged. “Give it to her, Mommy.” 

“I can’t,” Butters moaned. “I can’t, I can’t--” 

Cartman silenced him with an open-mouthed kiss. Kenny popped off Butters’ cock and did some detail work on Butters’ head so he could appreciate the view. Cartman clutched Butters’ jaw, canting his neck an undoubtedly uncomfortable angle, and subsumed his tongue, their conjoined saliva slobbering onto the collar of his shirt. 

He parted with a lewd shout when Kenny swallowed him once more. Cartman bit kisses into his neck, paired by just as forceful demands--"Fuck him, Butters!”

Butters latched onto Kenny’s shoulders. “K-Kenny?” 

Kenny let him loll out of his mouth and looked up through a mess of hair, spit, and lust. “Fuck me, Mommy.” 

“Baby girl,” Butters groaned. He pressed his forehead into Cartman’s neck, unable to witness himself grip Kenny’s hair and pierce Kenny’s mouth with his cock.

Kenny chuffed at the abrupt intrusion. Butters’ thighs clamped his ears, allowing no respite. He fumbled for an anchor, located Cartman’s knee with one hand and Butters’ waist with the other. Blood sloshed in his brain, then diverted toward his own thickening member. All he could to was mewl and gag and make desperate attempts to escape--not that he wanted to escape, or wanted Butters to let him. 

Cartman supplied his sadistic expertise, instructing Butters to rut his hips and pull Kenny’s hair. Desperate for guidance, Butters obliged--even went as far as planting his feet and rising off Cartman’s lap. Kenny pinwheeled backwards with the motion, got one second to reorient himself before Butters jammed his cock back into his mouth. Kenny willingly surrendered, palms flat on the tile, knees burning, spine hunched. Tears sprung at the corners of his eyes and added to the snot and spit trickling off his chin. Butters grunted wordlessly, for once unapologetic and unmerciful, pistoning his hips, clutching Kenny close--Cartman hopped up and wrapped his arms around Butters’ waist, talked him through his incoming climax. 

Kenny lacked the wherewithal or allowance to look up. Were he able, he’d have found Butters shuddering and Cartman peering around his shoulder; as it was, he could only focus on the cock in his mouth, the ache in his jaw, and the deluge of cum that spurted down his throat. 

Butters immediately released him and stumbled backwards into Cartman’s hold, jelly-legged. Kenny chased after them and cleansed the rest of the cum off Butters’ twitchy cock, then puddled onto his elbows, gasping for air. 

“Fucking hell, you two,” Cartman chuckled. He gently deposited Butters into his vacated chair. “Alright, there, kiddo?” 

Butters hugged Cartman’s arm, lest he melt to the floor. “Mmph.” 

Cartman looked at Kenny. “How about you?” 

Kenny sent a thumbs up, not yet verbal, and wiped his nose and mouth with the back of his hand.

“I’m doing just fine, in case anybody cares,” Cartman said. “Not like I’ve got a massive boner or anything.” 

“La petite mort,” Butters mumbled. 

“I--ah, fuck--” Kenny coughed; he sounded absolutely wrecked, even to his own ears. 

“Easy, baby girl,” Cartman said. “I’ll getcha some water.” 

He evaded the cheap swipe Kenny aimed at his ankles and proceeded toward the sink. Kenny thunked onto his back, defeated and exhausted. “Shit.” 

Butters slowly put himself back together, jackknifed over the table. “Hey.” 

“Hey,” Kenny returned. “You good?” 

“Are you?” Butters asked. “That was kinda crazy.” 

Kenny shrugged. “Not really.”

Butters’ lips pursed. “I ain’t ever done nothing like that before.” 

“I liked it,” Kenny said. 

“He enjoys being objectified,” Cartman said, and passed a glass of tap water to Kenny. “Here you go, whore.” 

Kenny sat up and took a drink, then swished some water his mouth and spit it back into the cup, the discharge milky with residual cum. 

“See?” Cartman asked. “You can call him anything. No reaction.” 

Kenny returned the glass. “Fuck you.” 

“Fuck you, you filthy slut,” Cartman retorted. 

Butters straightened and tucked his soft cock back into his shorts. “You’re a born bully, Eric. I don’t do stuff like that. It’s against my nature.” 

“Homosexuality’s against nature,” Cartman said. “So’s sex before marriage.” He discarded the glass in the sink and leaned against the counter in a wide sprawl. “Yet here we are, fucking each other in the ass out of wedlock.” 

“I meant in general, wise guy,” Butters said. 

“He’s just kidding,” Kenny said. 

“Am I?” Cartman wondered aloud. 

“Yes,” Kenny answered. He stood up, stretched the kink out of his back, and pressed a chaste kiss in Butters’ hair. “I should probably be the one apologizing for pressuring you--” 

“You didn’t pressure me into anything,” Butters scoffed. “Don’t even try.” 

“Don’t you try, then, either,” Kenny said. 

“We’re all consenting adults,” Cartman said. “I feel like this whole thing just kind of goes presupposed.” 

Kenny shot him a glare. “Quit your bullshit, Eric.” 

Cartman gestured to his crotch. “I’m a bit wound up if you haven’t noticed.” 

Kenny checked his own crotch--yup, still half-hard. “Err, me too.” 

“I could do something ‘bout that,” Butters offered. 

Cartman narrowed his eyes. “Oh, could you now?” 

Kenny’s brow furrowed. “Ain’t you tired? With your run and, well--all that?” 

“Little bit,” Butters admitted. He tossed his legs out and stretched his arms, forming a sexy, supine slither. “Don’t see how that’s a problem, though, if I just lay back and let y’all have your way with me.” 

“Alright, alright, alright,” Cartman drawled in the worst Matthew McConaughey impression ever attempted. 

“Butters,” Kenny said. “You don’t have to--” 

“Shut up, Kenny,” Cartman cut off. “God, what’s with all the dilberations? You guys are lucky I’m so inconsiderate, otherwise we’d never bone!” 

Butters giggled, hands laced behind his head. “Maybe I wanna be objectified.” 

Kenny scratched a flake of cum off his jaw. “I dunno, man--” 

Butters pouted. “What, you don’t think I’m pretty enough?” 

“If looks were part of the criteria, Kenny’d be out of the running.” Cartman pushed off the counter and stood between them, nearing his wits end. “Butters, you’re a bottom bitch.” 

“Thanks,” Butters chirped. 

“Kenny, you’re a cockblock,” Cartman added. 

“Hey,” Kenny said. “Just making sure everybody’s up to speed--” 

“If my dick isn’t in somebody’s orifice in the next five minutes,” Cartman spat, “I’m gonna surgically remove my ribs and suck it myself!” 

Butters bit his lip, stifling a smile. “I could recommend a few surgeons at Hell’s Pass--” 

“Forget it,” Cartman said. “I couldn’t foot the bill. I’ll go find a glory hole instead. How’s that sound, Ken? You wanna be responsible for my STDs?” 

“No,” Kenny smirked. 

“Then let’s get a move on!” Cartman pushed Kenny ahead and simultaneously yanked Butters to his feet. “Chop-chop, assholes!” 

“Don’t call me an asshole, asshole,” Kenny warned, leading the charge upstairs. “Unless you never wanna see my asshole again--” 

“Good thing Butters is down to pound,” Cartman said. “Aren’tcha, Leopold?” 

“I’m so down, Eric,” Butters said, taking the rear--spatially as well as literally, it appeared. 

Cartman shoulder-checked past Kenny and busted their bedroom door open. “Butters!” 

Butters snapped a jaunty salute. “Yes, sir?” 

Cartman fought a smile. “Don’t be cute. Take your clothes off.” 

“Whatever you say, sir.” Butters sank onto the bed and began undressing.   
  
“Kenny,” Cartman called. 

“You ain’t bossing me around,” Kenny told him. 

“I beg to differ!” Cartman snared Kenny into a toothy kiss and didn’t let go until stars danced across Kenny’s blurred vision. “You will respect my authority.” 

Kenny’s cock wiggled; he glanced at Butters, now kneeling on the bed stark naked, then back at Cartman. “Yes, Daddy.” 

“Get the stuff,” Cartman ordered. “Double order on the menu today, Mommy?” 

Butters’ eyes darkened. “Is it ever, Daddy.” 

Kenny scrambled toward their dresser whilst Cartman crawled over Butters. A pandemonium of sex toys laid within the bottom drawer; Kenny gathered two dildos in his arms, then diverted for the bedside table and retrieved the lube. 

The items slid down the depression Cartman and Butters made in the mattress. Kenny knelt at its precipice, hastily shed his clothes, and laid beside them.

Butters parted from Cartman’s mouth and turned; Cartman grasped his chin. “Stay up here, Butters.” 

“Baby girl wants her Mommy,” Butters frowned. 

“Okay, fine.” Cartman relinquished him, the easy surrender explained when he palpated two lubed fingers between Butters’ ass cheeks. 

Butters whimpered; Kenny swallowed the noise, folded a leg across Butters’ stomach to keep him still as Cartman’s fat digits scissored him open. Kenny’s cock raked across Butters’ jutting hipbone--he disciplined his shaft in his fist, let Butters’ lip bounce off his chin, and added to the bruises Cartman painted along Butters’ neck. 

“Look at you,” Cartman teased. “Who’s our bottom bitch?” 

Butters dazedly lifted his eyes to match Cartman’s. “M-me.” 

Cartman corkscrewed a third finger into his hole. “Imagine if your parents saw you now.” 

Kenny stiffened. “Eric, man--” 

“Let ‘em look,” Butters gasped. Kenny’s gaze whirled, but Butters had his eyes screwed shut and head thrown back. “I want ‘em to see--” 

“See what?” Cartman demanded. “Say it, Leopold.” 

“See me--ahh--” Butters tripped over a broken sob as Cartman squelched toward his prostate. “--get fucked by two men!” 

“What about old Father Maxi, huh?” Cartman asked, relentless in pace and preposition. “Shit, remember when you were an altar boy? You were so fucking cute. I never told you but I popped a boner once--” 

Butters opened his eyes, shocked into composure. “You did?” 

“You did?” Kenny echoed. 

“Oh, yeah,” Cartman grinned. “Right in the middle of service. Pretended to read the Bible to cover it up. I was taken with the word that day--my mom couldn’t believe it.” 

A blush flared across Butters’ face and oozed down his Captain America pectorals. “Aw, jeeze, buddy. That just ain’t fucking proper!” 

Kenny laughed. “You’re going straight to Hell, dude.” 

“I belong there,” Cartman said. “I’ll party with the Real Housewives. Maybe you two can fly down and visit sometime.” 

Butters squirmed, torn between the moral and anal wreckage Cartman bequeathed in equal measure. “Eric, that’s foolish talk. I’ll vouch for you. I’ll tell Jesus--ngh--I’ll tell him, listen here, Lord and savior sir, but that--that man’s got a heart of gold--” 

“Under a steaming pile of bullshit,” Kenny provided. 

“Ah, well,” Cartman said. 

“Daddy,” Butters whined. 

Cartman cocked his head. “Yeah, baby boy?” 

“If you don’t fuck me in the next five minutes I’m gonna drop by that glory hole you were talking about,” Butters threatened. 

“In that case...” Cartman removed his hand and nodded at Kenny. 

Kenny kissed Butters’ cheek, then squeezed between his legs alongside Cartman. “Oh, wow--” 

“It’s a sight to see,” Cartman agreed. 

Butters pouted. “Don’t make fun.” 

“We aren’t,” Cartman assured. “Your ass is miraculous.” 

And he was right. Stretched by Cartman’s fingers, fluttering and dribbling lube, Butters’ hole was indeed a miracle. Kenny thumbed its rim, sent Butters’ into a jolt. “Ready?” 

“Been ready,” Butters huffed. 

Cartman placed a pillow beneath the small of his back. “Don’t be impatient. We’re just getting started.” 

Kenny slicked the dildos with lube. “On your mark.” 

“Goooo,” Butters ground out. 

Cartman unceremoniously inserted the tip of the first dildo. “And we’re off!” 

Butters’ toes curled in the sheets. “Oh, fuck--” 

“Looks like a strong start,” Cartman narrated, easing the toy further. “Stotch’s proved his potential throughout the season, but how he’ll fare in big leagues remains to be seen. McCormick?” 

“Well,” Kenny said, positioning the second dildo for follow-up entry, “the kid’s got moxie, I’ll give him that.” 

“Already takes it like a real pro,” Cartman commented as the first dildo reached its hilt.

Butters’ spine arched. “Jesus fucking Christ!” 

Cartman tsked. “That temper’s gonna cost him the race if he doesn’t keep his cool.” 

“Pressure’s on,” Kenny granted. He gauged Butters’ for any red light, pressed onward upon finding none, and forced the second silicone tip past Butters’ overtaxed rim. “Even the veterans can choke at this point.” 

“No pain, no gain,” Cartman surmised. He left the first dildo inside of Butters--a deadweight supported by Kenny’s hand--and bent forward to nuzzle Butters’ tear-tracked cheekbone. “Let’s check in with the rookie, see how he’s holding up. Whatcha say, Stotch?” 

“Uhhh,” Butters croaked. “Real nice, feelin’ good.” 

Cartman cupped his cheek. “Gotta keep in mind we’re only in the semifinals.” 

Butters scowled. “Goddamn it, Eric, I’m fine!” 

Cartman shuffled back to his initial position. “Kid’s fine, race is still on.” 

“What a sport,” Kenny said, manipulating the second dildo deeper. 

“Oh my God,” Butters snapped. “I hate y’all, I really do--” 

“There’s that temper again,” Cartman said. “Hopefully it won’t interfere with his endurance later on.” 

Kenny chewed his lip and worked the second dildo in far as it could go, which was only about halfway. Butters wheezed, eyes half-lidded and glazed, chest seizing in an erratic rhythm. 

“Oh, what’s this?” Cartman pondered. “Stotch’s pulling out ahead! He’s going for the gold!” 

“Still got the last leg of the race,” Kenny reminded. 

Together they began sluicing the toys back and forth, up to their wrists in lube. Butters expelled a puff of air for every undulation, and his cock stirred atop his stomach with every pass over his prostate. 

Cartman took notice. “He’ll need to keep some in reserve for the finals.” 

“We’re winding down to the finish,” Kenny stated. “Just a few more laps to go.” 

“Nngghh,” Butters supplemented. 

“Would the rookie like to share a few thoughts?” Cartman asked. 

“I want your dick,” Butters slurred, straight out of a porno. “Aw, fellas, please--I can’t--” 

Kenny and Cartman slowed their ministrations. “What’s wrong, baby boy?” Cartman prompted. 

“I can’t fuckin’ stand you,” Butters said. “All your teasin’ and talkin’ and bullshittin' and ballbustin'--s’posed to be nice t’me--” 

“We’re very nice, Leopold,” Cartman said. “We’re the most gentlemanly schmucks around.” 

“Nuh-huh,” Butters said. “You’re a buncha sons of bitches.” 

Kenny shuddered at his debauched dirty talk. “Butters--” 

Butters sniffled, returning back to character. “Please, fellas, I’m serious--dunno how much longer I can take--” 

“Shh,” Cartman soothed. “We’ll quit screwing around, promise.” He elbowed Kenny. “C’mon, Ken, why you gotta be such a jerk?” 

Kenny rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, it’s always me, I’m awful.” 

They dislodged and discarded both dildos. Butters about disintegrated, as if the silicone was scaffolding his entire being. 

Cartman whistled. “Hot damn.” 

Butters rubbed his thighs together, his hole gaped red and weeping. “Eric...” 

“Oh, I’m joking,” Cartman said. 

He thumped down beside Butters and spooned him to his chest as Kenny pressed along his back. They kissed his shoulders, his neck, his lips, his nose, running their hands wherever they could reach. Butters solidified under their touch, lazily returning affections when able. 

“Fellas,” he mumbled. 

Cartman rolled Butters onto his belly, wormed underneath, and looped Butters’ legs into a straddled bend around his hips. “There we go. Is this alright?” 

Butters nodded against Cartman’s chest, eyes closed.

Cartman kissed his crown. “Okay, baby boy. Just hold on to Daddy.” 

“M’holdin’ on,” Butters affirmed. 

Kenny smiled at them both, then rose onto his knees behind Butters and lubed his and Cartman’s erections. “Say the word, babe.” 

“Word,” Butters said. 

Cartman grasped Butters’ thighs and canted his cock--smaller than the dildos’ manufactured, exaggerated dimensions--toward Butters’ hole. Kenny assisted by guiding Butters’ hips down in tandem. The intrusion was slick and soft, but judging by Butters wanton moan you’d think they shoved a telephone pole up his ass. Kenny curled forward and kissed Butters’ spine, which locked under his lips as Cartman glided balls-deep. 

“We gotcha,” Kenny murmured. “We love you, Butters.”

“But I love you more,” Cartman clarified.

“No you don’t,” Butters said. “‘Cause I love y’all so much it falls short only to God.” 

“You oughta be named the thirteenth apostle,” Cartman said. “Giving a sermon all fucked out--it’s biblical.” 

Butters hummed, not registering his remark as a jibe. “Thanks, Eric.” 

Kenny straightened, worried if he didn’t speed things along Butters would fall asleep, and nudged his cock above Cartman’s. Butters bore down against him without conscious thought. Cartman petted Butters back to malleability; Kenny tried again and slipped inside of him undeterred. 

“Ohhh,” Butters sighed, brow crinkled. “Oh, God... Hah, hah...” 

A weird, horny anxiety filled Kenny’s chest with the revelation he and Cartman had obliterated Butters in body, mind, and soul. Butters was limp as a rag between them, unmoving and practically unconscious, panting senseless, breathy noises. Cartman lifted his thighs and Kenny lowered his hips, neither of them mobilizing on their own, just puppeteering Butters up and down their cocks, his inner walls pulsating loosely, drooling lubricant and pre-cum. 

It was a warm build-up, slow and syrupy as molasses, but stoked their loins all the same. Kenny dove into the lackadaisical current, so completely submerged that his orgasm came as a surprise. His eyes opened and his mouth parted with a muted shout. Butters echoed back, spasming on his cock, and Cartman subsequently followed--all of them crystallized in perfect unity for one infinite moment. 

Less spectacular stimuli poked Kenny’s awareness: the stench of sex in the air, the pins and needles in his knees, the goopy residue saturating his inner thighs, Butters’ overstimulated sniveling, Cartman ripping an untimely fart; all filed along with the rest for the sake of mundane, honest completion.

Half-drunk on endorphins, Kenny unsheathed his cock, stumbled into the bathroom, and indulged in a de-compressive piss. Butters was splayed on his back when he returned, haloed by angel-blond hair, legs askew, skin glistening with sweat, asshole pearly as the gates of Heaven; Kenny baptized him clean, then attended to Cartman with less care, knowing such sanctity would chafe Cartman’s guarded, bleeding heart. 

Kenny compensated his late morning sleep with an early afternoon nap. He awoke unworried, everybody where they should be, which was all together. The sun burnished their bedroom auburn. Butters unfurled a lazy gaze in his direction, hair turned strawberry in the burgeoning dusk. “Hi.” 

“Hi,” Kenny whispered. 

Butters looked behind himself--grimacing when his nether regions twinged--and appraised Cartman’s snoring heft. “He’s out like a light.” 

“Every time,” Kenny said. 

“‘Least he’s quiet,” Butters muttered. “Y’all were certainly chatty.” 

“So were you,” Kenny reminded. 

“Aw, heck.” Butters frowned, back to his censored mode of speaking. “I don’t even remember half of what I said.” 

Kenny brushed his hair aside. “Probably for the best.” 

Butters grinned. “That bad, huh?” 

“More than I’ve heard you curse in a long while,” Kenny assented. 

Butters made to reciprocate Kenny’s petting, but got a whiff of himself and scrunched his nose. “Ugh. Now I’m for real stinky.” 

“Don’t matter to me,” Kenny said. 

“You ain’t gettin’ me again,” Butters said. He sat up and lumbered into the bathroom, legs awkwardly bowlegged to mitigate the sensitivity in his ass. 

Kenny filled the empty space he left in his wake. Cartman sleepily curled against him, no doubt day-dreaming of hellish housewifery and Butters and Kenny’s heavenly cameos. 

“Eric,” Kenny said. 

Cartman humphed; lazy in general, he was damn near quadriplegic post-coital. “What, Ken?”

Kenny tempered the rude awakening with a kiss to his nape. “Where’s the thing? I wanna grab it before he gets out the shower.” 

Cartman swung his hand toward the dresser. “Bottom drawer.” 

“Seriously?” Kenny went as directed and found Butters’ present hidden beneath a box of anal beads. It was indeed the last place one would expect to find such a gift, Kenny granted. 

He stuffed it under his pillow and cuddled Cartman once more, who had turned onto his back to meet Butters when he eventually exited the bathroom. 

Freshly-showered, Butters was back to working order, wearing a loose pair of sweats and a woman’s Hello Kitty t-shirt he’d owned since high school, his adult musculature straining the threadbare and faded logo. He plucked the dildos off the floor, set them atop the dresser for later cleaning, then looked down at his partners with his hands on his hips. “Y’all gonna be lazy bums the whole day? It’s only five!” 

Kenny patted the bed. “C’mere. Just for a second. We got something for you.” 

“For me?” Butters perched on the edge of the mattress. “Today’s been good enough.” 

“Sure, Leopold,” Cartman intoned, “because we really have to go out of our way to fuck you.” 

Kenny retrieved the nondescript box from under his pillow and placed it in Butters’ lap. “That was for all of us. This is just for you.”

Butters smirked. “Alright, then.” His smirk vanished as he opened the box. “Oh.” 

“We got you a new one,” Cartman said. “Seeing as you gave your old one to your mom.” 

Butters turned the Bible over in his hands. Bound in genuine leather the color of sunkissed tangerines, Christ’s words outlined in sacramental red, each page included a two-inch margin for notes both studious and romantic. He thumbed through the New Testament in search of the verse Kenny knew he’d read first. _And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love._

“Thought it’d be a step above that dollar store replacement you bought,” Cartman said.

Butters looked up. “It’s beautiful. It’s perfect.” He leaned forward and kissed them each. “Thank you. I love you.” 

“We love you too,” Cartman said. “Don’t ever forget it.” 

“I won’t,” Butters promised. He sat against the headboard, Bible resting on his thighs, and flipped to the first page. “I’m gonna read it right now, straight from the start!” 

Kenny laid his head on Butters’ shoulder. “Maybe we can do it together. I never did go to CCD...” 

“I’m out,” Cartman said. He ruffled their hair, then shuttled into the bathroom to cleanse himself of sex and sanctimony. 

Butters giggled. “Okay, Ken. You ready?” 

Kenny nodded. “Yup.” 

Butters cleared his throat. “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters. And God said, Let there be light, and there was light. God saw that the light was good, and he separated the light from the darkness...” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "asshole pearly as the gates of Heaven" was a cum joke. just wanna make that clear because i found it pretty witty, lol.
> 
> butters' bible: https://www.paulsleatherco.com/shop/esv-journaling-bible-withstrap


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